I created the Old Gods and Outer Gods in America.

The water droplet hit the fly.

Without any fancy process, the fly didn't even have time to flap its wings before it was swatted into a wet puddle.

"What are you doing?" came another Deep One's voice.

The Deep One who had made the move withdrew his finger, flicked the remaining water droplets from his fingertips, and spoke with a hint of annoyance.

"It's just that seeing a fly is a bit annoying. I used to be bothered by flies all the time when I lived under a bridge."

"Did you used to live under a bridge?"

The Deep One who had made the move looked at him suspiciously: "You're not?"

"No, do you really think everyone is as miserable as you? I used to have a family."

"Are you kidding me? You're a homeless person, and you're pretending to be one."

"I found a clean trash can and hid in it."

"..."

As they chatted, their footsteps faded into the distance.

Yorn's consciousness returned to the main body under the sofa.

The fly died so quickly and cleanly that it didn't even have time to send back any pain signals.

But Jon is more concerned about something else now.

That fly was part of his body, and now it's dead.

After this realization swirled in his mind twice, an even more serious problem surfaced.

His body parts were scattered throughout the city, numbering in the tens of thousands, some in the sewers, some in garbage dumps, and some on the streets.

Those insects are just too easy to die accidentally.

In other words, his body will begin to deteriorate if he is not careful.

After a brief silence, Yorn immediately took action.

He knew he couldn't continue like this, or he'd probably become the most pathetic of the superhumans to die.

Yorn suddenly realized that some of the insects had heard information that the Deep Ones seemed to be able to transform other humans. Could he, who controlled the insects, also do the same?

Without thinking, Jon crawled into the sewer and grabbed a cockroach at random. The moment he had the idea of ​​controlling it, the cockroach's struggling limbs immediately froze.

Another scene appeared in Yorn's view.

His idea was correct; he could transform other insects into himself, but he couldn't be greedy with the number.

He's already overwhelmed by the sheer number of images in front of him; any more and he'd be driven mad.

"If that's the case, then why don't I just send the farther-away insects to their deaths?"

Yorn chuckled and said that he would send all the distant ones to their deaths, and then he would find nearby insects to transform into, which would save him a lot of trouble.

As for where to find the insects?

Please.

This is Washington's 8th District.

One of the worst neighborhoods in the United States, a hell on earth with a murder rate of 71.9 per 10 people.

The trash cans on the street corners are left unattended for years, and the bodies in the alleys are sometimes only discovered after three or four days. In those nooks and crannies, if you just flip over a piece of cardboard, you'll find a whole swarm of white maggots underneath.

There's no shortage of bugs here.

"Wait until I've fully reassembled my body, then I'll wipe you all out! You think you're heroes? You're just idiots!"

......

The Pacific Ocean.

It is located 170 nautical miles from the west coast of the United States.

The "Deep Blue 9" offshore drilling platform stands quietly on the ocean, with four giant steel pillars piercing the sea surface, lifting the entire platform 30 meters above the sea level.

This semi-submersible drilling platform has a total area of ​​over 12,000 square meters, with a deck area nearly the size of two football fields. It has a maximum operating water depth of 3,000 meters and can maintain stable operation under the most severe sea conditions.

The platform has 186 permanent staff members who work in shifts, rotating every two weeks, and operating 24/7.

With an average daily crude oil production of approximately 150,000 barrels, based on current international oil prices, this brings in more than 12 million US dollars for the United States every day!

So it's not unreasonable that oil can breed mold; this stuff is really profitable.

It is evening now.

The afterglow of the setting sun dyed the sea a reddish-orange, and the searchlights on the platform were not yet fully lit, belonging to that delicate moment when day and night intersected.

In the dining hall of the second-floor living area, Jasper Norrington walked out of the food serving window carrying a tray.

He took his plate and sat down at the long table by the window, where three of his coworkers were already sitting and waiting for him.

Have you guys seen the video about the smite bird?

Jasper started talking as soon as he sat down, forking a piece of salad and stuffing it into his mouth.

Kevin didn't even look up, his thumb flying across the screen: "That poster of him standing on the ruins, right? He's pretty cool, but it feels a bit fake."

"It's not a poster, it's that video of the fight, the one where the Punishing Bird punches that red monster and sends it flying."

Scott, who was standing next to him, shook his head after hearing this: "I watched it three times, and it still feels like movie special effects. You know what I mean? It's just too unrealistic."

"Indeed, we've been at sea for almost a year now, and what's happening on land... how should I put it, it's like news from another world. All that superhuman warfare, all that Blue Shield Insurance Company being dismantled, it sounds like science fiction." Old Roberts stirred his coffee, his tone flat.

Jasper nodded.

This is the biggest difference between them and those on land.

People on land are firsthand witnesses; they saw buildings being destroyed and cars flying through the air. Even if they didn't see it in person, they can go and see the ruins and experience it for themselves.

But for those who spend most of their lives at sea, everything is separated by a screen.

The video can be paused, fast-forwarded, or turned off.

All of this was like a superhero movie to them—exciting, but it had nothing to do with them.

That feeling was so dreamlike, it almost didn't seem real.

"But...aren't you afraid of that thing?"

Kevin suddenly put down his phone, his expression becoming somewhat subtle.

"Which one?"

"Fishman".

Kevin lowered his voice.

There was a two-second silence on the table.

The weight of this topic is completely different from when we talked about big birds and smite birds before.

Whether it's a giant bird or a punishing bird, the battlefields of those extraordinary beings are in the city, 170 nautical miles away, completely unrelated to them.

But fish-men are different; they come from the water!

And beneath their feet lies the Pacific Ocean!

Old Roberts took a sip of coffee, trying to keep his tone light: "Don't scare yourself. There's no official recognition of fishmen. It might just be an urban legend."

"And the ocean is so vast, the Pacific Ocean covers 160 million square kilometers, do you know what that means? How could it possibly just happen to find us like that?"

"The main thing is that this place is for extracting oil. Tell me, what do those fish-men need oil for? Do their fish need fuel?"

The jokes lightened the atmosphere at the dinner table considerably.

Just then, Jasper's gaze was drawn to something outside the window.

"Hmm? It's raining?"

He tilted his head and looked out the window. The rain was heavy, and the water on the windowpane was so thick that he couldn't see outside. The sky was abnormally dark.

Scott didn't even look up: "So what if you're down? What's the big deal? Is this your first day on the platform?"

But Jasper didn't go back to sit down. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, but he just had a very strange feeling.

He put down his plate, walked to the cafeteria exit, and pushed open the door.

The wind, carrying rain, lashed at his face, making it impossible for him to open his eyes.

Jasper wiped his face, walked to the railing at the edge of the deck, and looked around.

Then he froze in place.

The water falling from the sky did not crash into the sea as it approached the surface.

They stopped.

Hundreds of millions of water droplets are suspended in mid-air, densely packed, each one motionless, as if time has been frozen at this height.

Then, these water droplets began to move horizontally.

They slowly and neatly converged in the same direction, the gaps between the water droplets getting smaller and smaller, until they finally merged into a continuous water curtain.

From the sea surface to a height of at least fifty meters in the air, a complete, semi-transparent curtain of water is slowly closing in, centered on the drilling platform.

Jasper turned sharply and looked to the other side.

360 degrees, no blind spots.

In the few seconds it took him to react, the water curtain had already completed its final closure.

The entire "Deep Blue 9" drilling platform, along with the 186 lives on it, was completely sealed off by a water curtain!